Roleplaying Game

Entries tagged with ruben

He’d done a deed that would net him social capital. Rhiannon, Jazz, and even Melody could be enemies under the right circumstances, but they weren’t, at least for tonight. And that was okay. He jumped over the outstretched legs of a pair of drunks and hummed an Aerosmith song. Daniel wondered for the millionth time why he was on better terms with the white hats than his own kind, and in this well-worn train of thought he stumbled over a realization about himself that made him stop where he stood, teetering over the edge of a street curb.

Being liked was more important to him than anything else.

His brow furrowed.

Could that be it? The answer to why he hadn’t become a violence-crazed monster had nothing to do with his demon at all, but was instead a desire for popularity? And when his sire hadn’t provided it, he had cashed in his chips and sided with the good guys?

Daniel retraced his steps and turned into a narrow street used primarily for loading and unloading into restaurants and shops. He needed a minute alone with his thoughts. As he walked faster, he squeezed the back of his neck and mulled it over. If this new thing was true, that meant he’d rip out throats if he was surrounded by a nest of vampires, which wasn’t a bad thought except that meant he was a fucking sheep.

And here he’d come to think of himself as a trailblazer.

“No way.”

He was too deep in his self-effacing thoughts to notice the demon until he was on top of it. It was hairy and muscular. Its teeth gnashed as it chewed on the still-warm corpse of a stock boy. As it turned to assess the interruption, its eyes glowed red. A hell-hound. Daniel had heard of them, but never seen one in the flesh, probably because this particular breed had come through the portal sometime before it was guarded. The hound growled and dropped its meal.

Years ago, Ruben had wondered how long it would take for the sun to burn him into ashes. It had been a random notion, one he hadn't seriously entertained, but he thought of that time every now and then. For a man who couldn't see himself in a mirror, he was strangely reflective.

It was three a.m. The bars had announced last call an hour ago. Even in Las Vegas, some laws still held. If you wanted to drink after two in the morning, you had to go home or somewhere else.

He was stepping over the legs of the dead man in the alley, heading towards the sidewalk. He'd learned to eat quietly. Someone would probably find the body eventually, most likely an unlucky garbageman. Nevada was warming up, careening towards summer.

There was a pale moon trying to shine down through the light pollution, and Ruben turned his face up towards it. The moon was cold, remote, but it was also kind. It wouldn't burn him.

He didn't know why he was waiting. All the signs were there that she was the one, and she burned so bright that he couldn't stop staring at her. He could barely sleep during the day anymore. So why was he waiting? If he wasn't going to do it, he should move on.

Ruben was lying on his left side when he opened his eyes, and he lay there for a minute before realizing that there was already an inch of water in the ditch. He had dirt in his mouth. His clothes were filthy and soaked. He was cold.

He tried to sit up, and it took a bit for his muscles to cooperate. Had he passed out again? He remembered the bottle he'd stolen in the last town, stolen and drank while sitting in an abandoned barn. He tilted his face up towards the sky and opened his mouth, allowing the rain in. He spat out the soil, clearing his mouth. He was still cold.